Checheri Cheri tapped her foot as the ignorant tailor prattled on and on about the latest cross stitch patterns she had created and an incredibly rare dye that would make cloaks pop and gowns sparkle. "I have told you time and time again that I am NOT here  to purchase any of your drab creations. I am looking for a master craftsman. A professional. Not a purveyor of cheap, and quite frankly tawdry, goods. No matter how you truss it, a pig is most certainly still a pig."Â
Checheri brushed passed the now profanity-spewing tailor in order to reach the exit of the so-called guild. "Not a master to be found amongst these desperate pretenders. Not a single one. At this rate Mon Cheri will never again rise to conquer the markets  of Ul'dah..."Â
Before she could open the door, however, it burst open in a flurry of activity. Due to her diminutive Lalafell stature, Checheri could only see one thing: a luscious red hat, Perfectly crafted in most every way.
"Who made this!!?" she exclaimed, her manicured nails pawing at the celestial creation.
Checheri brushed passed the now profanity-spewing tailor in order to reach the exit of the so-called guild. "Not a master to be found amongst these desperate pretenders. Not a single one. At this rate Mon Cheri will never again rise to conquer the markets  of Ul'dah..."Â
Before she could open the door, however, it burst open in a flurry of activity. Due to her diminutive Lalafell stature, Checheri could only see one thing: a luscious red hat, Perfectly crafted in most every way.
"Who made this!!?" she exclaimed, her manicured nails pawing at the celestial creation.
